What's In a Name?
by Olneya
Summary: Remus is haunted by the monster within, and Sirius by a scorned family name. How precisely do they come to terms with these ghosts? Self-discovery with a little bit of romance thrown in for good measure. Enjoy!


A.N. It seems with one thing and another, life in generally going forward, I have not written fanfiction of any kind in quite a long time. So I was quite excited when this bit of inspiration struck. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little piece about Remus and Sirius, who are one of my absolute favourite couples to read and to write. On that note, I do not own either character, nor anything even remotely related to the Harry Potter Universe.

What's In a Name?

I could never remember how we'd wound up there in that room, and considering just how vivid that particular memory is, it's surprising that the details leading up to that point are so very dim. There'd been firewhiskey involved, of that I'm sure. I recall feeling that strange brash feeling that only comes about after I've been coerced into a round or two, and considering that we were both underage at the time, I'm sure Sirius had taken to sweet talking some poor old barkeep. He always did have a way of getting what he wanted.

It had been one of the last free days of summer. It was the last time I truly remember feeling so young carefree. The war would truly begin for us in the coming months, and we would be forced to leave behind our foolhardy boyhood days. James had opted to miss this particular adventure, and Pete's mother never did like him to visit the city. So Sirius and I had wandered the streets of London alone that day peeping into shops, feasting on ice cream, laughing together as we haven't since.

I am sure that I was to take a room at the Leaky Cauldron, but Sirius was lonely, as he tended to be. He hated his time spent there, of that we were sure. Though he never was one to bear his feelings, none of us could doubt that Grimmauld Place must have been a very bleak place indeed. And was he ever ashamed of it, his home, his family. So how precisely we would up in a formal old room with a great family tree looming overhead, I shall never truly know.

I recall that he watched as I ran my hand along the rich wood of the mantle and glanced up at the tall ceiling that made the little house my parents kept seem like a tiny cellar. We were from two separate worlds he and I. I had never truly realized it until that moment. He had stood there in his shirt with a crisp collar and his polished shoes, while I stood all too aware that my sweater had been darned one too many times. I was overcome with embarrassment, which then, was such a dire emotion.

But it had been more than just these external differences. Poverty can be overlooked. But Sirius was both beautiful and whole. And I, I was but the most primal of beasts. Despite how I could pretend to be learned and calm, in truth, I was always suppressing the monster inside of me, fearing always that those whom I loved would one day realize how thin my guise truly was.

My eyes fell upon a glass cabinet, filled with what at the time seemed like all the beautiful trinkets that wealth and status could buy. I did not covet such things. I would have had very little use for pretty china tea cups and golden medallions. Yet these little treasures held such a power over me, as they so sharply scored the line that existed between me and that which I truly wanted.

Sirius then moved to stand close to me. Had we not both felt the fresh burn of the whiskey in our stomachs, I'm sure we would have both realized that such closeness was not entirely normal. I could not see his face as he pulled open the embossed glass cabinet door. He gently picked up a crystal flute running his finger over the smooth engraved surface.

"The Black Family Crest," he stated slowly. "Etched onto everything in this house. You'd think they'd damn well remember their own names."

"My family doesn't have a crest," I replied dimly with a grin.

He placed the delicate glass into my hand. "And you're better for it. It's not natural." He spoke softly. "It's just one man thinking up a stupid way to proclaim to the world that he's better than the others. But what does he really have? A pile of gold stashed up in a hole in the ground and a pretty cup with a stamp. How does that make a man better?"

"I don't know," I replied sensing that this was not the answer that Sirius was seeking. "I've never had the extra galleons to buy a pretty cup before."

Sirius smirked, a look which on him was not cold, but truly amused. "I'd give you this one, but you wouldn't want it. It's permanently stained Black."

As I placed the glass back in its place within the cabinet, I replied, "I could never accept an heirloom like that anyway."

A dark look flicked across his face then. "Heirloom or not, it's a worthless bit of trash. Everything is. These shiny bits of glass and metal, the crest, that bloody tapestry over there, documenting generation after generation of proud inbreeds. What is the Black Family Tree? What's a name worth, Moony?"

"I'm not sure I follow, Pads?" I answered uncertainly, looking up into his face. "Black is one of the oldest and most respected wizarding family names. Everyone knows that."

"But that's just it," he replied with a ferocity. "Why are they so respected? For being so damn old?" He turned away then and marched quietly toward the vast family tapestry. I followed him slowly.

"Look at them, Moons. You know what they stand for?" he asked, very deliberately counting himself separate. "They love pure-blood. They absolutely adore it. They have no other standard. You could be the most inept fool and still have a respected place here on the Black Family Wall of Shame!"

I gently placed a hand on his shoulder then, hoping to comfort. I was beginning to feel ashamed of my initial opinions of this room seeing the effect it elicited from Sirius, whose armour always seemed so solid. I felt as though I should not have been seduced so; that I had grossly misinterpreted one of my greatest friends. "But Padfoot, you are very much your own man. And you are one of the least foolish people I have had the honor of calling my friend. Well for the most part," I added with an uncomfortable chuckle.

I could see a scowl forming at that. He shook off my weak grip, and turned to face me. "But don't you see, Moony. That's just it. I'm not one of them. I've made damn sure of that. But I'm like the damn glass. I can't wash off the stain no matter how much I scrub. It's been bloody well etched in."

He was so desperately seeking validation. And I was the person from whom he wanted it, I who had wanted so badly to be accepted, or more truly divided from the monster that shared my being, but that being an impossibility, had settled for acceptance. I could not fathom that he did not comprehend the extent to which I both loved and regarded him. I had never considered that he would have any need, nor want of my opinions on his being. Yet, we had stood there, he looking like he both wanted to cause and receive great pain, and I feeling such a desperate fool.

"Sirius Black," I said with solemnity. "You make my world better by simply existing within it. What greater person could I ever hope to encounter?"

His face softened slightly. "That's why I hate them," he countered gently. "They despise you. Your existence is just a scar on their idea pure-blood world. They hate you for simply being what you are."

I could tell that he didn't intend it, but that had stung deeply. I couldn't look into his eyes as I replied, "Are they really so wrong to feel that way, Pads?"

I felt, rather than watched, him draw close. "Yes, Moony. They are so wrong." And then his hand was at my neck and his hot breath touch my ear. "So incomprehensibly wrong." Then his lips had moved on, gently ghosting along until they met with my own, where they lingered so very briefly.

"Padfoot..." I moaned slightly. And before I could continue his lips were there again, more forceful this time, and I was yielding quite willingly.

"Quiet Moony," Sirius sighed, when next he took a breath.

That was the first time I felt that perhaps it was not so very wrong to get what I desired, and thereafter I felt oddly content in that imposing room. I smiled into soft dark hair and whispered, "As you wish, Pads." He did always have a way of getting what he wanted after all.


End file.
